Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Monday, July 28, 2003

Rain Stops Gay

Pride? I’ve never been that proud, except for a couple of embarrassing incidents on the bus. But like the good little gay I should be, I should have been trotting along to some marsh to watch Hazel Dean come out her sarcophagus for the umpteenth time, bumping into ex’s and getting delirious in the sun from the fumes of the ‘lesbian only’ tattoo parlour. I didn’t, because I’m far too sour for such things and instead spent the time wandering around a gorgeous country house and eating National Trust biscuits. Far more civilised.

I love that people get a thrill out of the exhibitionism and the dancing and the jolly japes to be had by blowing whistles. I’ve never really got that, though and previous Prides have resulted in:

• getting dumped.
• pulling ugly strangers
• losing your friends, and not being able to find them due to the mobile phone network going “aaaaaah!” as 350,000 pop moppets try and get through to someone called Steven to screech that “we’re by the Fist tent! I’m dressed in a white thong and nothing else! Cackle!”
• Finding nothing interesting going on, not even in the bushes.

For goodness sake, Girls Aloud weren’t even there this year. Unforgivable.

I think the best way I’ve seen it summed up was here.

Still, while I was wandering around my lovely country house, the wife and I looked out of the window and noticed that the heavens had opened. The thought of the rain tipping down on all those unlucky marys and flattening their hair made us smile. And we had another biscuit in celebration.

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